My kids don’t know that I faint every time I get a needle.

Why would I burden them with the totally real and sane fear that a random stranger could jab you with a vile filled with a formula of their choosing whenever the mood should strike?

Maybe it’s the third born but yesterday at her “Well Child” check-up, the Doctor said she was due for a shot.

I had told Chloe in the car we would go to the Doctor to get weighed–check, to see how tall she was–check, she was also asked to balance on one foot and draw the Doctor a picture of a person. She drew a picture of someone balancing on one foot….I think.

When the Doctor asked her to touch her toes, she did. She pushed her feet together at the toes. The Doctor said, “Chloe, can you touch your toes?” Um, she is. The Doctor hasn’t discovered the genius that is Chloe.

We laughed in the hopes she would forget about the needle and we could walk out of the office with our toes touching and giggle at how hilarious the English language can be.

Nope.

The nurse came in and said, “What arm would you like your needle in Chloe?”

Chloe rolled up her sleeve and watched the entire thing. Never flinched. I nearly croaked.

When we got to the car, Chloe said, “Mommy, when I grow up, I want to give people needles.” She might have said, “I want to stab people” but I took it as a kid with a dream to become a medical professional.

I said she could go to school to become a nurse or a Doctor and learn how to give people needles.

She replied, “I think I’ll just be a princess instead.”

That does sound easier than going to school.